The Consultant Dances
by allworkinspired
Summary: A prompt. "John finds out sherlock is a great dancer. one day he just comes to sherlock's bedroom and sherlock dances with him. sherlock's hands all over john's body. their bodies close to each other, bonded in a new, different, stronger way. they dance and john feels it."


I slammed the door to 221B Baker Street and walked up the stairs, already beginning to shed my coat. When I arrived at the top of the stairs, I hastily threw my coat on the nearest chair and closed the door to the flat behind me. I sighed and rested my back against the closed door and pinched the bridge of my nose. My long, rough day was finally coming to an end. I shifted my weight back onto my feet and fixed myself a cup of tea. While the water heated, I slid the sleeve of my jumper up to check my watch. Sherlock should be home now. Where was he? I fixed an extra cup the way Sherlock liked it and walked up to his room. The faint sound of music slipped out from under his closed door. Odd. He usually plays music when he's thinking, not listen to it. Maybe I should just leave the tea here… but what is he up to? I put my ear to the door and heard the floorboards creaking from quick, but gentle movements and muffled humming. I was so interested that I hadn't even noticed that my hand had found its way to the doorknob.

I opened the door slowly and quietly, hoping not to disturb Sherlock. If I found him pacing around, lost somewhere in his mindpalace, he'd be quite annoyed with me. But when I opened the door, I instead found Sherlock majestically flowing around his room, back straight and shoulders squared, leading an invisible dancing partner. I tried my best to stay unnoticed, but a laugh had bubbled up to the surface and escaped from my lips without consent. Sherlock turned quickly to face me, "ah, John! Perfect timing! I could use a partner." he motioned for me to join him.

I shook my head and waved my free hand to decline. I placed the teacup on his nightstand and leaned my shoulder against the doorframe, "Wow. Sherlock, since when do you… since when do you dance?"

"Usually when you're not home. Why are you home so late?" Sherlock unbuttoned his sleeve and rolled it up to his elbow.

"I told you I was going to be home late." I sighed, "Don't you ever hear me?"

Sherlock started working up his other sleeve, "I often do, it just gets lost. Really, though, John. It would be nice to have a partner for a change." He put the music track back to the beginning and held his hand out again.

"Sherlock, I don't dance."

But Sherlock ignored my protest and went to grab my hand. I swatted it away and started to slowly back out of the room, "Sherlock…"

"John," Sherlock's pleading eyes locked with mine. I half-heartedly shook my head, knowing full well that I would never be able to get out of it now. Sherlock wrapped his hands around mine and pulled me into his room.

He pulled my left arm up and let it rest on his upper back and took my right hand in his left. His gentle hands were much longer and thinner than my wider, stumpy ones. The contrast of his well-manicured grace and my... ruggedness... created an blend so ideal that my hand was able to drape perfectly over the space between his thumb and forefinger.

"Hand placement is important. It not only helps guide your partner, but it also helps you," he placed his other hand on my back, "connect." I could feel the warmth of his skin radiating from underneath the fabric of his shirt. I've felt his skin before, Handshakes, hugs, restraining him as Mycroft searched his room... what was different now? Perhaps it was his shirt? My favorite shirt of his was slowly untucking itself from his trousers, purple fabric of a smooth silk blend. So beautiful to touch, so appealing to the eye, especially against his skin tone. Perhaps it was the feel of Sherlock's crisp peppermint breath just barely skimming the skin of my face? I don't know. But something was different. Something was pleasantly unnerving. Something was... _good_.

Sherlock's body grew closer and closer to mine before I realized we had begun moving. I was supposed to move back with him, but was taken off guard. "Sorry" I mumble as his foot makes contact with my toe. He ignored it, which, to Sherlock, is the same as another person accepting an apology. He stepped back and then forward again and I made sure to step with him this time. I imagined him smiling at the move's success, but I didn't dare look up. I made the decision to keep my eyes downcast and focused on his feet until I could feel my nerves settle a bit.

I can still feel my heart beating rapidly. It's as if someone had removed it and put a drum set in its place. I move my eyes to my wrist, fixed at the veins pumping blood at the same rate as my pulse, throbbing up and down against his own hand. He must know. He must feel it in my wrist or thumb. Oh God, he knows. Nervously, I adjusted my eyes to watch his face. His eyes were closed and his mouth hard and straight. Concentrated. Being so close to his face made me realize things I had never even thought about before. Like how one of his nostrils is ever so slightly rounder than the other, how they flare out slightly when he inhales, how his teeth sit behind his slightly parted lips. How... How smooth his lips were and how they seemed to glisten in the light. I wanted so desperately to get closer to him. To see parts of him I had never seen before. I wanted to explore every ripple his smile etches into his face, every crease his torso makes when he moves. I wanted to see how his muscles flexed whenever he made movements. I wanted to watch his nimble fingers comb through his hair so I could see how it bounces back into place. He opened his eyes and I could feel the heat rush to my cheeks. But instead, I didn't feel embarrassed as he reassured me by pulling me closer to him, our bodies merely centimeters apart. He was smiling. Of all the sights I've ever seen, I never would've thought I'd see Sherlock smile. He turned his focus to me. Caught staring once again in awe and shock. Before I knew it, his smile disintegrated into his usual stiff, straight lip.

Sherlock straightened his back again and skipped gaily to the side and I instinctively skipped along with him. He repeated the motion again in the opposite direction and I successfully followed him once more. "I thought you said you don't dance?" Sherlock laughed.

"I just didn't want to. Figured if I said I did, you'd make me, but, here I am. Still dancing anyway. There's really no getting out of anything you want to do, is there?" I smiled, following Sherlock's lead.

"No, not really, especially not you. I enjoy doing things with you. And I don't enjoy doing many things with people." he paused, "I'm actually quite impressed."

"Yeah, my mum made me take lessons when I was younger. She told me one day I'd make someone very happy with my skills." I lifted my eyes to meet Sherlock's.

"Mhm." Sherlock stifled a smile and lifted his arm.

I spun underneath his inclined arm, but he stopped me halfway through, pulling my body into contact with his. I felt could feel the rise and fall of his chest as he pressed against my back. Before I knew it, his lips were pressed to the side of my temple. His nose made its way down the side of my face, from being buried in my hair, to my ear, and ceasing at my neck where he buried his face. I closed my eyes and rested my head back against his shoulder, feeling his breath against my exposed skin. His fingertips slowly started to make their way past my waist and to my hips. He sent his muscular arms across the front of my body, in a firm embrace. My spine shivered and my mind wandered.

Thoughts of my rough day began to cloud my mind; images of impatient patients, finding a hole in my favorite coat's pocket, and having my card declined at the grocery store all started flooding in. Sherlock must've noticed my shoulders growing tense, because he spun my body back out again, bringing me back to the present. He pulled me back into him so we were once more face to face. But we landed differently than we were before. His arms were tight around my waist and my hands grasped each side of his face.

"Are you okay?" dripped from his lips, just barely touching my ear. His voice was so deep. So soft and sweet, like honey and velvet, but dripping with empathy.

Startled, I nodded and buried myself into his collarbone. "Yes Sherlock, just fine."

He must've heard something in my voice, for he pulled my face up and scanned it. He was searching for something and I'm not quite sure what. He stopped searching and rested his forehead against mine.

The cool peppermint that once just barely grazed my cheek hit me full on the nose and I couldn't fight it anymore. My tongue caught a taste of on the cool breeze coming from in between his lips and I swallowed hard, causing my insides to become frosty as well. I closed my eyes and focused on how relaxing the feel and scent were. It seemed to multiply behind my closed lids, as if it were growing closer. His hands were reaching out desperately onto any part of me he could reach and so I clung back. Mouth agape and so close to his own ajar jaw, I tried to hold on as he picked up the tempo. Our feet were all over the room and our bodies all over each others. He leaned his hips against mine and I shivered. I felt him smile and I opened my eyes to see his smile grow. He was grinning now, as if he had something planned.

He trailed his long index finger down from my chest to my belt. His eyes dropped down to below my belt where we were now rubbing against each other. I followed his gaze downward and was taken off guard when he backed me into his wall. I groaned at the impact from both ends, not knowing what to expect next. Sherlock rested his hand above my head on the wall and I looked straight on into his heaving, well kept chest. When did those buttons open? My hands couldn't help but to follow the new trail of exposed skin. His hips bucked forward deeper into mine than before and I groaned, leaning my head back on the wall. I looked up at him and his warm lips found their way onto mine a few times and before I knew it, his minty tongue began to cool my entire mouth. I moaned as his mouth departed mine. He was staring right at me, trying to calculate what had happened. Both of my hands were resting on each side of his hips, still grating against mine. While he was taking the moment in, I swirled the pads of my fingers along the back of his slightly dampened silky shirt until my palm rested on the skin behind his neck and my fingers were tangled in his hair. I felt heat rise to my cheeks as my lips pulled themselves into a stupid grin. He smirked "that's a good look on you. We should dance more often."


End file.
